


blood brothers

by padfootprongs



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-10
Updated: 2013-04-10
Packaged: 2017-12-08 03:16:17
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 482
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/756380
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/padfootprongs/pseuds/padfootprongs
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>post godric's hollow: "What was more fitting for a betrayer, a murderer, an eternal stain on the golden lion of Gryffindor?"</p>
            </blockquote>





	blood brothers

When the sun had risen, Peter had been a rat. 

When the sun had set, Peter had still been a rat. 

The cycle had been going for what seemed like years – it was his fate now, he supposed. What was more fitting for a betrayer, a murderer, an eternal stain on the golden lion of Gryffindor? What was more fitting for the sole destroyer of the Dark Lord and the Potters both? _He’d_ sent Voldemort to Godric’s Hollow, _he’d_ spilled the secret – and now wizards on both sides of the war were desperate for his blood, desperate to avenge their fallen heroes.

 _What if Sirius finds me?_ No, that would be impossible, he’d seen to that. Not even Sirius could flee the murder scene that fast, not when twelve Muggles lay dead around him, not when a massive crater had been blown into the road, not when he was so broken and shattered and twisted out of shape from the death of his best friend. 

Best friends. Blood brothers. They’d done a stupid ritual once, when they were children. Remus had seen it on the television. The others had slashed their hands eagerly and shook before offering him a turn, their palms dripping red. He’d done it eventually, but it took a few tries before he could muster the courage to cut himself. It smarted, and he had always hated the sight of his own blood. Sirius had laughed and called him a weakling, asking if the Sorting Hat had made a mistake, and maybe it had, because Gryffindors were supposed to die for their friends. 

The scar had faded away now, after Remus had attended to it. Remus the invalid, now lonely and still diseased, living in a cramped room that he paid double the rent for so his landlord would overlook the monthly disappearances that ever so coincidentally matched the lunar cycle. He'd be mourning two friends and regretting one, but in the wrong order. 

_What if Bellatrix finds me?_ That was far more likely. He’d seen little of Bellatrix Lestrange, but from tiny glimpses he’d quickly learnt that she was a madwoman. A real madwoman, not the sort that James would mean after a fifth-year Lily had thrown a sharp insult at him, or Sirius when he’d tell stories about his fanatic mother. Bellatrix had chained herself to Voldemort, bound to serve and kill and devote herself to him with body and soul. The mere thought of the Cruciatus Curse sent her cackling into the night, to come back dragging half-dead bodies behind her, dried blood crusted underneath her fingernails and over her blotched pale skin. 

And now her dear master was gone…

Peter Pettigrew huddled into a ball, waiting for the sun to rise and the sun to set. What fate was more fitting for a betrayer, a murderer, an eternal stain on the golden lion of Gryffindor?


End file.
